Life, Liberty, and a 9mm Bullet
by Cho-sen
Summary: Max is given a strange offer from the government. This is my first fanfic! Please review! I repeat Review or ELSE!
1. Chapter I

I sat at the seat; a wall of bulletproof glass separated me from the outside world. My only link was a phone that I held in my hand. I had a visitor. Odd, because everyone I knew were either dead or would rather not come near a federal prison unless they really had too. My visitor walked in and sat down.

Despite his Italian made business suit, I could tell by his rigid walk that he was a military man: the way his shoulders didn't sway and how his feet walked in a straight line, never wandering away from the shortest path to the destination. He looked to be around 60 or so, with gray hair, crow's feet, and wrinkles. Still, he looked very healthy and deadly. He smiled at me and picked up the phone one the other end. "Hello Mr. Payne. I am General James L. Huff." 

I remained silent. He pulled out a manila folder. I recognized the coffee mug stain on the cover; it was my police dossier. "You wiped an entire mob family, snuck into a former U.S. government military technology lab, made a full scale assault against the Aesir company fortress, and slaughtered an entire army of trained killers." My eyes widened, the police didn't know about the base underneath Cold Steel. The man noticed my shocked look. "The United States government remembers all its assets. After all, valuable tax dollars went into that lab."

"Mr. Payne, if you had done all this killing, assassinating, and property damage in Vietnam, you would have been a hero. Unfortunately, you're not in Vietnam but in New York City. Still, the government has noticed your talents and decided to make use of them."

"What do you mean?"

"We are interested in your abilities and plan to make you into a neutralizer."

"A what?"

"A covert agent specializing in neutralizing threats to national security and liquidating those who threaten the right to life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness."

"You want me to become a assassin," I said flatly.

"That is one way of putting it. Before you say your answer, consider this, you have been given the death sentence by the people of New York for several hundred counts of murder. You are a prodigy. We don't want to waste that. This offer can be your savior from the needle. Consider that. So, Mr. Payne, do you accept our offer?"

I thought about for about a split second. Death by lethal injection or a new lease on life? Choices, choices. I nodded my head. 


	2. Chapter II

Huff laughed. "Woden was right about you. You are an agreeable sort."

So Old One-eye didn't back out of our deal. He better have not.

Huff's gaze then turned steely. "This is what's going to happen. Woden and I will attend your 'execution'. Your IV will be filled with a powerful anesthetic. You will be unconscious for a day or so. We will then take your 'corpse' and smuggle you out of the prison. From then on, you are working for us now."

I nodded. Plan sounded a bit iffy to me but beggars can't be choosers.

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I was being led down the hallway by a group of prison guards. My hand and ankle cuff jewelry jingled loudly. My orange uniform was stained with steak and mashed potatoes, my "last" meal. Soon, my entourage and I burst through a pair of double doors. 

A group of witnesses, reporters, family members of victims, and Woden and Huff, all sat in a bunch of chairs. There was a frenzy in the room; they smelled blood. Woden and Huff both grinned smugly at me. Huff winked. I tried not to smile. Then the guards strapped me down to the table. 

My arms stuck out like Christ on the crucifix. The head guard pierced the IV into my vein. The clear liquid bubbled a bit and the bag became smaller. I felt the narcotics pump into my bloodstream. I became drowsy; my breathing became slower. Soon, I blacked out.

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When I woke up, I was on a hospital bed with bandages covering my face. "What the hell?" I thought to myself. "What did they do to me?" I said out loud. "Well we had to do it. We certainly can't have a executed murderer seen at a 7-11." Woden and Huff walked into my room.

"The kind doctors and nurses at Hoover Medical Center reconstructed your face while you were unconscious."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Huff coughed. "Let's get to business." He handed me a manila folder showing photos of a mansion and a Middle-Eastern man. "This is Sharif Al'Muhas. He is believed to be supplying money to several different terrorist organizations. However, the U.S. does not have any concrete proof. So we are sending two Mjolnir Squad operatives i.e. you and another person to liquidate him."

"When do I ship out?"

"Tonight."

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I was sitting on a Chinook carrier helicopter while flexing my cheeks. My cheekbones were now smaller and my lips felt larger. Damn Woden. Sitting beside me was my squad mate. He introduced himself as Charon. I doubted that was the name his mother gave him. I both were armed with M-16 rapid-fire assault rifle (silencer attached), a SPAS-12 assault shotgun, twin Steyr Tactical Machine Pistol submachine guns (silenced), twin 9mm Beretta Elites (also silenced), and a aluminum Louisville Slugger I picked up at the sporting goods store before I left the mainland. 

The pilot was listening to a boom box blaring out some hardcore rock song. "Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor!" He sang (screamed) along. He stopped shouting in time to hand me and Charon a hip flask. "Have a drink for good luck?" Charon took a swig and handed the flask to me. I took a shot. The whiskey tasted like honey and went down easy. "Augh…" Really strong stuff. My head pounded along with the beat of the song. I was pumped. I felt angry. I was ready to kill. 

The pilot shouted to us over the noise of the chopper blades, "We're over Al'Muhas' palace. You two are going to parachute onto the roof. Then you'll infiltrate the building and kill Al'Muhas. When you are done, radio in and I'll pick you up." What was he blabbing about? I knew how to kill. I just wanted to get to the ground and start shooting. Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor. 

Charon and I leapt out of the helicopter.


	3. Chapter III

We fell for a long time. Two years ago, I probably would've crapped myself just by jumping off. But now, I was cold and deadly, like a gun. I yanked my cord and my parachute deployed. Charon did the same. We landed onto Sharif's palace. 

The palace was of typical Middle-Eastern design. Minarets and domes sprung from the roof. Charon and I landed on the roof. Hard. "Oof!" I moaned when the wind was knocked out of me. We unstrapped our chute packs and walked around the roof, looking for a skylight or a air vent to sneak through. I found a small ventilation grate sticking out of the roof. I broke it open with my baseball bat. I crawled in and Charon followed.

It was difficult. We crawled through a small tunnel, with heavy guns strapped to our backs, and while cold air blew directly into our faces. Charon and I sweated profusely from the hard work through our armpits and forehead. Our exhaustion made us clumsy. I accidentally crawled onto a weak air vent grate. I fell through and landed between three AK-47 armed bearded and turbaned guards. Shit.

I unholstered my Steyr TMPs and leapt backwards, while squeezing the triggers. The bullets flew from the barrels of my silencers. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Crimson exploded from the guards' chests. They fell backwards without so much as a moan onto a pool of blood. I did this all in less than three seconds.

"Nice job," Charon commented as he leapt down from the broken vent. He took off his M-16 while I reloaded my TMPs. "Thanks." We were apparently in a hallway with doors at the end. Charon was the first to react, "You take the right door and I'll take the left door." 

"Fine."

We split up and I walked through the door. I was in a large study, with desks and plenty of books. Sitting at the desk was a guard, apparently deep into a copy of Frank Herbert's Dune. He didn't even notice me. I raised one of my guns and fired. The book and his head behind the book both exploded. The force of the bullet tipped his chair backwards. His corpse fell off the chair and he sprawled onto the floor. Behind him was a door. I stepped over his body and through the door.

I was in another hallway. Luckily for me, there was no-one in the hallway. Blam! Blam! Gunshots echoed from behind me. Apparently Charon ran into some trouble. I could hear some shouting from the door in front of me. The door slammed open and in front of me were a group of five guards. We both stared at each other dumbfounded. Then the guards raised their rifles and aimed at me. 

I looked for something to take cover behind. Nothing. Damn. The guards fired their AKs. I ducked and then rolled forward to avoid the bullets. I stopped rolling and laid on my back while I fired my twin submachine guns. The guard standing in front of me crumpled to the ground. I then leapt up to my feet and grabbed his corpse. I dropped one of my TMPs and held up the body as a shield. I could feel the bullets of the AK-47s ram into his body. I sprayed my bullets in a horizontal arc. Two guards' heads exploded into a mass of blood and gray matter. Click. Damn out of ammo. 

I shoved the bullet-riddled body to one of the guards. He was surprised and caught it. I then took out my shotgun and squeezed both triggers. The guard right by him flew back about two yards. The remaining guard's eyes widened and he dropped the body he was holding. He then started running for the door. I squeezed the double triggers again and ripped him in half with a load of buckshot.

I unscrewed the silencers from my pistols and rifle. The entire complex must've heard the echoing gunshots of the AKs and my SPAS-12. No use for these. I tossed aside the silencers. I then strapped the shotgun to my back and pulled out my M-16. I was ready. I walked out of the gory and bullet riddled hallway and through the door the guards came out of. 

The room was a very fancy looking master's bedroom. In it was a queen sized bed, a large dresser, a coffee table, and three extremely pissed off men. I recognized the one in the middle as Al'Muhas. He was cradling a FN P90 submachine gun to separate himself from his AK-47 armed goons. 

"I don't know who you people are but get out of my house! I will reward you handsomely if you drop your weapons and leave the premises!" He shouted in fluent English. He had no accent whatsoever. I growled and gnashed my teeth in answer. I then raised my gun and prepared to shoot. 

Sharif dove for cover behind his coffee table while his two thugs fired their rifles. I dove forward while squeezing the trigger. The butt of the M-16 hammered against my shoulder while it recoiled. My head still pounded with the liquor, the rock song, and now adrenaline. I literally saw bullets whiz by my ears. Whoa. I fired half the clip into the first goon. His torso and face ripped into a bloody mess. Then I swung the gun around and sprayed the rest of the clip into the second goon. His chest exploded and gelatinized organs and blood spewed from his wounds. Just Sharif and me left. 

I dropped my depleted rifle and unholstered my trusty Berettas. Sharif popped out from his hiding place and fired while screaming. I could see the bullets fly out of the small nub-like barrel of the SMG. Weird. I rolled sideways out of the way of the lead onslaught. I raised my guns and fired. I suddenly felt the odd sensation of déjà vu. Suddenly, I wasn't in Saudi Arabia anymore. I was in a seedy alleyway in New York ripping apart a Mafioso wannabe with my akimbo Berettas. Sharif screamed in pain as my bullets pummeled into his chest. He fell back and gasped for air. 

He then desperately pulled a sidearm from his ankle holster. An FN Fiveseven. Before he could even aim it at me, I shot him between the eyes. He let out a exasperated sigh and died. Mission Accomplished. I called Charon over the walkie talkie and told him the good news. We were going back home. Blam! Blam! Well, I was going home.


End file.
